Bury My Heart
by Nonoke
Summary: Sam & Dean team up with Hannah & Maggie White Bird, a mother-daughter hunting team, when a South Dakota town overloads on sex & violence. Dean fields death with his usual style & the boys realise that they have more in common Hannah than they thought...
1. Chapter 1

_Sheridan, Wyoming._

Dean was running. And it was pissed. He could hear the trees shivering as the dark shadow impacted branches carrying the evil closer.

He could almost feel its breath. Not a good sign, but he knew that it was circling back on him and if Sam was going to get a clear shot, he had to keep running. _Damn it!_ He wanted to yell at Sam to hurry up, but he didn't want to give away his position so obviously. Hell, he was making enough bloody noise as it was, thwacking and ducking his way through the brush. Whoever said that running through a forest was supposed to be easy? Dean's brief grin melted into a grimace as another branch whipped him in the face. How did he manage to get himself into this? Sam was supposed to be the one doing the dog work. In fact, Dean would have been making wendigo toast by now…

"Sammy!" Dean roared coming into the clearing. Sam was desperately working the torch, head shooting up and down trying to watch for the wendigo and get the damned torch working at the same time. Sam was gritting his teeth, yanking at something.

"What the hell? I thought you said this was going to work?" Dean barked, breathing hard and bending from the waist, rubbing the sweat off his hands and onto his jeans. He grabbed the pack at Sam's feet rummaging for the other torch.

"Yes. That was before you went and blah, blah, blah…"

Dean tuned out Sam's whining barrage, focusing, and getting the other torch going instantly. He half turned with a smug look forming on his face, but Sam was saved from the full force as he and Dean ducked and rolled, avoiding the long arms that suddenly came swiping at them. They both heard the shriek as the flame scorched it. Instantly, the arms retreated and the air around them was silent.

But they both felt the wendigo's attention had shifted. It had been silent too long.

Sam looked at Dean and his brother shrugged.

They both heard it at the same time and the look on Sam's face changed instantly.

_Those damned hikers!_ Sam thought. He'd already told them to clear out, but apparently earth tremors and potential breaks in the earth's crust weren't scary enough. He could almost hear their voices being carried on the wind. It was faint, but he thought it sounded like some women…

"Ok, that's the last time I'm leaving you to do this…" Dean muttered angrily.

Sam threw his arms wide and backed up, looking around.

"Forget it, ok?" he yelled. "Just go!"

And then they were running.

They both ran hard in the direction of the voices, heading south through the thickness of the trees. It was getting darker now, the light of the sun slowly falling out of sight off to the right of them. Sam and Dean moved further apart, covering a wider swath as they ran. They paused, losing the sound, searching. The forest was too quiet and Sam couldn't see anyone or anything. He looked to the left and started heading down an embankment where a gully had formed. Dean made a cautious move to follow, half crouched and watching his back.

And then a woman screamed. It was a heart-stopping, high pitched shriek and Dean went stone cold. He could see into the gully now, and saw a young, dark haired woman on her feet, wrestling with what looked like a naked piece of meat. An older woman who looked Native American, stood about five feet away from the wrestlers. Her eyes piercing black, but human, were locked on the two, her body planted and stock still. There was a peculiar look on her face that wasn't quite the shock or fear that Dean was expecting.

Dean whipped a look at his brother and charged ahead, determined to get there before the wendigo could shred the girl like a mandolin. They ran skidding and stumbling down into the gully as they went. In fact Dean almost ran into Sam, who had skidded to a halt, when the piece of meat that was the wendigo erupted into flames. Both boys backed up, their arms over their faces, turned away from the charring blast.

The girl, who had a moment before been wrestling with the piece of meat, stumbled backwards, her arms over her head, shielding herself from the licking red tongues that engulfed the screaming, flailing wendigo. She almost fell as she retreated away. The thrashing fire ball that had once been a fearsome cannibal kicked uselessly, crumbling to the ground, still screaming. It wasn't very long before the howling wail subsided into guttural moans. And it was dead before the fire had even stopped feeding itself, the flames still licking at the remains.

The older woman stepped forward with a fire extinguisher and casually put out the last flickers, careful to avoid spraying the foam on the surrounding areas. She sighed heavily, shaking her head, not even really noticing her audience. She was singing under her breath, low and in words that the boys didn't recognize. She continued to chant in a low voice, as she took out what looked like dried leaves from her pocket and lit them with a lighter. She blew it out and waved the smoke around the area covering the smell of dead flesh. Sam's eyebrows went into his hair when she bagged the carcass. She ignored the three young people and danced around the area, chanting, waving the smoking leaves, and afterwards spraying the whole area down with water from a canister.

Sam started breathing again.

That was when Dean finally noticed the young woman staring at him with an appraising look. Now that he could actually see her face in the warmth of sunset, he realized that she was stunning. Her long dark hair waved away from her face and it was lit red where the last rays of sun hit her hair. It was parted down the middle and ran like a waterfall down over her shoulders and to her hips. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a girl with hair that long. He cracked a grin at her, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looked at her creamy, tawny skin, and her chocolate brown eyes, the eyebrows arching with humour when she realized he was eyeing her up. She put her hands on her slender hips, which were encased in skin tight jeans, and smiled a smile of flashing white teeth. The smile lit her face, making him notice her high cheekbones. She let her long eyelashes sweep down and he grinned cockily. He couldn't quite figure it out, but she was oddly familiar. He brushed it off and out of his mind, pushing the thought away. He'd have remembered if this chick had walked into his life, leaving her panties behind as a souvenir, but maybe he was getting another shot…

Sam cocked his head and rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact that Dean was acting the dog, and shoved an elbow into his brother's gut as he passed. He grinned awkwardly and whipped his paw of a hand out in front of him.

"Sam Winchester," He said. "And this is my brother Dean." He gestured back at the idiot indicated, who was now sauntering forward and shaking hands with the pretty girl, who was only a few inches shorter than him in her boots.

The other woman, who Sam realized was a regal, almost statuesque, older version of the girl in front of him, was frozen, staring at them, and then she grunted one word.

"Hunters."

Sam nodded.

"Hannah White Bird," the girl said, grinning and flushed, and gestured to her mother. "And that's my mum, Maggie."

Dean reached out his hand.

Maggie White Bird looked at the extended appendage and Dean could swear he heard her teeth come together. She looked at him full in the face with narrowed eyes, and the look made him shrug and awkwardly pull his hand back.

"The Winchester boys," she intoned. "Heard a lot about you two. Stay away from my daughter," she said drily, eyeing Dean as he walked in a little closer to Hannah.

Dean half barked with laughter, cutting it off short when he realized no one else was finding it funny. Hannah had a mutinous look on her face, but smoothed her features over almost instantly when she saw her mother watching her.

"Thanks for dealin' with that," Dean said, attempting to ease the tension.

"Well, you were making enough noise…" said Hannah with a smirk. "We thought we'd take the opportunity even though it looked like you were doing a fine job handling it all by yourselves…didn't look like you needed help at all…"

The look she gave him was smug. She peeked up at him exposing more of her creamy tawny skin and he saw a three-row bone choker around her throat, studded with turquoise and dentalian shell. An almost identical one was sitting on her mother's throat. He also noticed small elk skin pouches at the hips of both women, beaded sheathes around what must be silver buck knives tucked neatly onto their belts.

"We had it under control," Dean let out his breath slowly, trying not to get angry. What was it about this chick that was setting him off like this? He grabbed for his cool. So they were hunters too, but some of the most unusual looking ones he'd seen.

Sam smiled.

"Well, thanks," he said. "Are you from around here?"

"No," said Hannah, "We're actually from South Dakota, but we travel. We heard about the wendigo and came over to have a look. We actually live near Belle Fourche."

"Hannah," Maggie said warningly. She reached out and pulled her daughter closer to her.

"That's enough. We're done here."

"Hey, It's ok…" Sam started, but was silenced by a look from Maggie. Sam dropped the

hands that he had put up placatingly. Dean and Sam stepped back and moved apart, feeling the underlying menace emanating from Maggie.

"It was nice meetin' ya, but we've got to get rid of this…" Hannah sighed.

"We could, uh, help with that…" Dean offered quickly, not wanting to lose an opportunity with this pretty little hunter despite the cranky wolf of a mother.

"Sure. All yours." Maggie said, thrusting the full weight of the bag into Dean's chest nearly knocking the wind out of him. Hannah's lips tightened, but she didn't say anything as she watched her mother walk away into the pressing darkness.

Sam's mouth was slightly agape and he shut it, not quite understanding the source of the older woman's hostility. He swallowed the words he was going to say and instead turned to Hannah, who seemed to be at least civil if not completely comfortable with them.

"Don't mind her," Hannah said, with her back turned away from them. "She doesn't trust hunters…not that I do, but she knows her way around. She's been doing this a lot longer than I have."

"So you don't consider yourselves hunters?" Sam asked, intrigued. His eyebrows came together thoughtfully, his lips pushing away from his face, as he watched Hannah turn and look at him.

"No," she said. "Mum's not a hunter…Not in the same sense anyway. I guess you could call me a hunter, but…I sure am talkin' a lot tonight. Don't know what it is about you two…" Hannah shook her head and laughed without humour. She turned away again so neither of the boys could see the emotions that were obviously running across her face.

She turned back to them with a curious look.

"I just have a feeling… that's all."

Dean grinned.

"Feeling like… touchy-feel good or axe murderer bad…?" he asked, slanting his eyes at her, his head tilted back. He was relieved that this girl wasn't leaving just yet. He imagined he must look like an ass holding a dead wendigo in a burlap bag, making a play for the girl who had just killed it. He hoped Sam wasn't thinking that same thing.

Sam was thinking about how much of an idiot his brother was when it came to girls. He'd had spent enough time to know the look on Dean's face and it was taking all his strength not to sucker punch him just because…the thought made him smile to himself. He rubbed the middle of his forehead to disguise it.

"So, ah, did you find the place…" Sam started and left the sentence to hang when she nodded.

"Yeah, mum and I didn't get here soon enough. There was only one victim. A guy. He wasn't in good shape when we got him out. I don't know if he'll make it. We left him at the local hospital and just told them that a bear got him."

Hannah shrugged and started to head back up the gully.

Dean nodded curtly. _Good – no storage locker to clean out_. He turned to Sam, ready to go.

"Come on" she said, surprising them both. She was waiting, half way up. "It's getting dark, and I don't want to run into any more ghosty ghoulies tonight."

Dean didn't waste time and was right after her, watching those slender hips sway in front of him. As he passed, Dean jerked his head at Sam, wiggling his eyebrows a bit. His sense of self-confidence was restored…after all what the hell? There was barely any time left now with his deal looming on the horizon.

Sam sighed: it wasn't as if there was anything else urgent keeping them in Sheridan. They were done with what they'd come for and with no hunt pending, they could afford to take some time. The mention of "not hunters in the same sense" intrigued him and he wondered how else one could hunt demons, kill vampires, or shut down dark spirits, if not the way they had already been doing it for the last few years. Was there another way to do this? Or even a way out of this life? Sam looked at Dean sideways, wishing that the yellow-eyed evil had ever come into their lives, had never killed their mother. He felt the blood slowly roaring in his ears, wondering how much time they had left...how much time Dean had left.

***

The highway was a lot closer than Sam had originally thought and when he broke out of the trees onto the curving and dusty roadway, he was surprised to see a large blue truck. Solid and old, it was a Ford. Maggie who'd been well ahead of them was loading some things into the back, the hard cover yanked up. Before she slammed the tailgate shut, he'd seen crossbows, silver arrow heads, bags and pouches made of elk hide, beaded in delicate patterns, but it was too dark to see what else was under the hard top. _Maybe another bagged wendigo_, he thought sourly, again puzzled by the older woman's reaction to them. Hunters were normally solitary, but Maggie's reaction to them was clearly and unapologetically unfriendly.

Done with the last few things, Maggie turned around, settling herself against the back of the truck, watching her daughter go up to the motorcycle parked slightly to the left and behind. Her face was expressionless. Waiting.

Dean eyed the sleek black crotch rocket with appreciation. Hannah grinned at him and patted the tank with loving hands. She snagged the helmet off the seat and swung a leg over, moving the bike with her thighs, side to side, almost suggestively, as she settled into the seat.

"Took you long enough," said Maggie, eyeing her daughter, who didn't reply, but simply swung her long hair up, twisting it until she could fit the thick coil of wavy black silk underneath a silver helmet.

Hannah flipped up her visor and gestured at Dean to get on.

"Sorry Sam, three's company," she said, smiling teasingly. "You'll have to ride with mum in the truck."

Dean felt like he'd won the lottery for once. Damn, that girl was hot. He didn't feel sorry at all when Sam made a face and gingerly walked past Maggie up to the passenger side. Maggie's face briefly broke into a hard smile before she stood away from the back of the truck and pulled out a set of keys. The door slammed with unnecessary force, and Sam winced a little before getting in. Dean tried not to look smug, but the corner of his mouth jerked up anyway.

"Where's your ride?" Hannah asked, kicking the motorcycle to life and easily bringing it into gear. "And don't forget to hang on!"

Dean was flying before he knew it and grabbed on before he could be pitched off the roaring machine beneath him. The wind and every bug alive was whipping his face. He sputtered a bit, wiping at bug guts, while he could feel Hannah shaking with laughter, his hands around her.

"You're crazy!" he yelled at her from behind, his words tearing from his lips and losing themselves in the rush of wind. "We were further north from where you were, so probably a few miles up the highway," he pressed closer to her helmet so that she could hear. In response she snapped the visor down over her face, and punched the gears with her foot, roaring into first and the whaa-whaaaaaa of the mechanical beast underneath them. The motorcycle shot forward, nearly throwing him off again. He shook his head laughing, feeling alive, and exhilarated, and crashed back down just as quickly remembering that his deal was going to catch up with him and there was just no need to feel like this. But the momentary resentment at her was just that. He was enjoying Hannah's company and her spirit. He sensed the wildness under her skin and gave himself up to it. The wind tore at his face and he let it have him for the moment, pushing the fear away into the deepest corners of his mind.

The road was winding and bumpy and with no conversation going on in the vehicle, Sam was uncomfortable looking out the window. Maggie White Bird stared straight ahead, keeping an eye on the road. She didn't bother looking at Sam.

"So how long have you been doing this for?" he asked, trying to get a conversation going. He wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to exchange information about the way she did her hunting. He could feel his head gearing up, already eager to soak up every little piece of information she could impart.

"Long enough," said Maggie in a voice that echoed with finality.

"Ah," said Sam, who slouched back against the pale blue vinyl seat, and went back to staring out the window. It would seem that his burning curiosity would have to wait.

Maggie was obviously not a talker.

There was just a little sprinkle of rain starting. The wind had picked up from earlier and was starting to press eager fingers against the glass, shaking the old Ford truck as it thundered along the highway. Sam watched the droplets pepper the dusty road, clearing off the earth and suddenly becoming a torrent of water. Maggie did not let her foot off the gas, but instead the truck plowed forward more urgently as the little black motorcycle whipped along in front of them, leading the way.

Outside, Dean was getting soaked and he was cursing under his breath because it was damned cold. Hannah felt his discomfort and pushed the little motorcycle faster in the darkness. He marveled at how she handled the machine, like she knew every part of it. She was molded tightly to the tank now, hunched over against the rain. They'd been riding for about ten, twenty minutes now and they were getting close. Dean knew that the Impala was not more than five minutes away and was glad that he'd parked it on the shoulder instead of at the lot near the ranger's office in the park. The lot was probably a mud bath by now and the last thing he needed was to be digging the Impala out.

He was desperately beginning to want a hot shower back at the motel and was already thinking about magic fingers and what it be like to see that long dark hair wet and swirling around—

And then he was flying because Hannah had swung the bike around and skidded to a stop in front of his Impala and his fingers had slipped off her slick jacket. Lucky for him he impacted the hood of his car without breaking the windshield, but he was pissed. _Damn it. What the HELL is she thinking?_

"What was that for?" Dean yelled. He grimaced and then smoothly rolled off the Impala and onto his feet, in spite of the ache in his ribs.

Hannah shrugged, a little petulant.

"I thought you were paying attention. Sorry." She sounded rueful, as if he had chastised her. She swung off the bike, graceful as a cat. "I could make it up to you, you know," she said, smiling at him knowingly.

He grinned back, chagrined at how easily she charmed him. He was instantly giving himself a mental shake, despite the fact that the dude had other ideas. He took a quick breath and let it out noisily. He opened the door of the Impala and gestured for her to sit down…in the back seat of course. No girl was going to be sitting in the driver's seat while he still had balls. Hannah rolled her eyes laughing, sat down, and patted the empty space beside her, her smile brilliant and inviting. Dean bent down.

The blue truck roared up behind them and they were momentarily blinded by the headlights. Maggie was out of the truck faster than lightning, her face full of thunder. Sam watched her stomp through the mud and the rain in Dean's direction and he got out and ran to catch up. Maggie looked like she was going to kill something, and that something looked like it might be Dean.

"Up," Maggie said to her daughter in a tone that brooked no argument. "You even touch a hair of her head and I'll skin you alive and hang you from a tree for the crows. I told you the _stay away_ from her."

Dean actually backed away from the car because he could see that Maggie meant what she said. Hannah looked up angrily, but got out of the Impala without a word. She turned to her mother with words on her lips, but stopped when she saw the look on her face. Sam saw it too, the eyes too bright, the tiniest flicker of her lower lip. She was staring at the Impala like it was a monster with too many heads.

"Get home," Maggie said without looking at her daughter.

Hannah made as if to say something, and Maggie's head shot up, facing her daughter full on. Hannah's face flickered through several different emotions, ranging from open rebellion to confusion. She backed up slowly and then faster, almost running to the motorcycle. She paused to look at Dean, her eyes torn, and then she was swinging her leg over, helmet thrust down on her head with her hair trailing behind her and she was gone.

"She was just looking at the car," said Sam, gently. He was confused by the look on Maggie's face, so open and unguarded. Her expression was raw and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Maggie turned on Sam, her voice lashing at him in its naked fury. "Maybe you've never had a mother to worry about you, but Hannah does. And she ain't ever seeing you or your brother again. So I suggest you get in your car and drive in the other direction. Now."

Maggie got back in her truck, slammed the door, and gunned after the flying black speck that was her daughter and the motorcycle, leaving the two boys non-plussed, and dripping in the heavy rain.

Sam had a "what the hell???!" look on his face

Dean slammed his hand on the top of the Impala and turned against it to lean on it. His thumb running over his lower lip. Maggie's over-reaction had been so bizarre and all consuming that he hadn't realized his cell phone was ringing away in his pocket. He pulled it out, just barely catching the last ring. He didn't bother to look at the number like he usually did.

"Yeah, what?" he grunted into the phone.

There was barely a pause, but a chuckle came low and rustling over the line.

"Wendigo poop in your boots, boy?"

Dean knew that Bobby was rolling his eyes.

"I've got a job for you." Bobby said. Dean turned around and looked at Sam, mouthing at him.

Sam looked at Dean questioningly, wiping rainwater from his face.

A moment later Dean snapped the phone shut.

"We're going to South Dakota," he said to Sam.

"What? Why? Now?" Sam sighed impatiently, already knowing the answer, and already knowing that he was going to be wet and smell like a wet dog for another few hours before they got to Bobby's house.

Sighing, Sam slammed the door for good measure, which only earned him a scowl from Dean. Ok, so they were going to South Dakota. _Great_.


	2. Chapter 2

_Black Hills, South Dakota_

Sam's fingers were flying over the keyboard of his laptop, his eyes intense. He was glued to it, absorbing the information that he was finding. He wasn't dead sure, but if Hannah and her mother were Native Americans from South Dakota, they were likely Sioux. And like many North American Native cultures, their lives were deeply entwined with an understanding of spirits and ghosts. The town where they were from, Belle Fourche, pronounced 'Bell Foosh', was considered one of the entries to the Black Hills which were sacred to the Sioux. It was more than likely that Maggie White Bird knew something that could help Dean with his deal.

He continued reading up on Sioux culture and legends and the more he read, the more the blood pumped through his heart, faster, and faster. He felt almost light-headed. Staring at the screen, he realized that he might be looking at the answer. He felt charged and even a little frightened all in the same moment. No matter what it took, he was going to save Dean and it looked like the answer was staring right back at him from the screen he had just pulled up. His jaw flexed as he tried not to sigh deeply.

He looked up and out the window, slanting a glance at his brother who was moodily staring straight ahead, probably thinking about Hannah rather than the job. Bobby hadn't said very much, but that was Bobby's usual way of saying something big was coming. Absently, Sam reached for John's journal and flipped through it, not really looking for anything, but considering that Dad had criss-crossed South Dakota more times than a cat o'nines, he was surprised that he hadn't come across anything about Sioux beliefs before. It was noticeably absent. Sam straightened, distracted by a random thought. He flipped more urgently through the journal and found what he was looking for.

There were almost three months of pages missing…which would have been some time in 1985. The last entry before the gap was something about resurrection rituals in South Dakota. Had Dad possibly been thinking of bringing Mom back? Sam slouched back down, looking over at Dean's delicate features, blond hair, trying to make sense of the jumble. Sam's head was beginning to hurt. He shut the journal with an audible snap, making Dean look over at him.

"Find anything?" Dean asked, casually.

"Nope," said Sam, shoving everything away. He shut the laptop and tossed it into the back seat.

"You hungry?" asked Dean.

"Yeah."

Dean nodded and pulled off the main road and started looking for the nearest diner.

Dean knew that Sam was keeping something from him, but he didn't push it. He was still disgustingly wet and knew that the wet dog smell wasn't just Sam. He sighed heavily, his thoughts moving back to Hannah. He couldn't get his mind off her, but it was more than an attraction thing. It was a feeling of familiarity that made him uncomfortable. He knew it was unreasonable, but there was something uncanny about her. He shook himself, allowing the hunter instincts to take over. He'd be cautious about this and not allow himself to be lulled into a feeling of security; that was the quick way to being dead in this job. Dean frowned to himself, creasing his brow thoughtfully, but his face cleared suddenly. There was a motel and diner waiting for him down the road, and his good humor returned at the thought of a long, hot shower, the complimentary terry cloth dressing gown, and some old-fashioned porn.

Sam looked over quizzically when Dean popped on AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" and turned the volume right up, nodding his head in time to the beat and banging the steering wheel.

"Dude!" Sam huffed, annoyed. He reached towards the volume only to have Dean slap his hand. "Hey!"

"I'm telling you, man. Don't touch that!" Dean yelled over the music, still bopping his head and singing along at odd intervals.

Sam looked at Dean, looked at the switch, looked back at Dean and reached over. Dean slapped his hand. Sam slapped back. They looked at each other and Dean's eyes narrowed. And that meant war.

Sam was slapping back at Dean with both hands, so quick and so fast, and ducking, that he couldn't even see Dean and barely even registered whether or not he was connecting. Dean, one hand on the wheel, was at a disadvantage, but made up for it by flicking at Sam as well.

"OW!" Sam yelled. "OK. Ok. Dean, we're going to get pulled over. Cut it out!"

Dean had grabbed one of Sam's offending arms and wasn't letting go. And Sam was holding onto the wheel. Sam tugged the snared arm.

"Damn it let go," Sam gritted.

"NO. You first..."

"Stop being such a child!"

"You started it!" Dean retorted.

"Truce?" Sam's eyes were reluctant, but his mouth was set.

"Fine," said Dean, rather companionably.

Slowly, Sam released the wheel and Dean let go of his brother's arm—and slapped him on the shoulder.

Sam tilted his head, glaring from under his hair. He watched Dean rub absently at a spot on his own shoulder, almost smiling when his brother looked from the road and glared back at him.

Dean pulled into the motel and flipped a credit card at Sam.

"Baxter Stockman? Why do I know that name?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose and holding the card away from him like it was a dead skunk. Dean sighed and snatched it back from him muttering something about 'turtles'.

"Fine, I'll get the motel this time. You pay for dinner," Dean shrugged, got out of the Impala and turned on heel.

Sam shook his head, got out, and then strode towards the diner. It was a curiously irregular shape, as if someone had added too many additions to the original building and didn't know what they were doing. The lower portion was a made up of wood siding. It was painted an ugly faded orange, a colour that might have once been red, but leeched by too many years spent neglected in the sun. The upper portion was stucco, whitewashed a million times. In sharp contrast to its lower region, it looked almost clean. The large neon sign blinked 'open' in blue, and he pushed open the door to find, to his surprise, that the door hinge was well oiled and barely squeaked at all. He walked in, looking around, automatically cataloguing his surroundings…noting the placement of the tables, how the counter would make good cover, the number of civilians, the location of the exits…all casually done with a sweep of his eyes.

"Sit yerself down where ever…" shouted a female voice from the direction of the counter.

"I'll be right out to get yer order."

The kitchen door banged open and a short, roundish woman came sailing out carrying a freshly baked pie. Sam smelled cinnamon and cloves and warm tart apples. Dean would love this place and after devouring a double cheese burger with bacon and onions, he'd probably end up charming the waitress by ordering two pieces of pie for himself. Sam was hoping that he'd be able to get a salad. Sam found himself a table in the corner and sat down, smoothing the blue checked tablecloth away from his long, long legs. His feet visibly stuck out from under the table and out the other side. Like everything else here, the tables were small and the chairs short. He wondered if he'd be able to straighten his knees without banging the table with them. The woman who'd shouted at him earlier bustled around, setting the pie down on a display on the counter. She glided up to him all smiles with a menu clutched in her fat hands. She laid it down on the table and winked at him. The tag on her shirt read: 'Rosie.'

"What would you like to drink?" She asked and without bothering to wait for his answer she hollered into the kitchen: "Sally!! We got ourselves a nice fine gent! You hurry on up now!"

Sam tried to school his wince into something else. Some of the other patrons were looking over. He noticed an old man wrinkling his nose and sniffing as he sat across from an old woman who was most likely his wife. They were dressed in what looked like their Sunday best, a stubby candle flickering between them.

Rosie, who obviously ran the place, turned back to him with a saccharin smile.

"A coke, please, and can I get another menu? My brother's coming too," Sam nodded awkwardly at her. "Thanks."

"Sure thing, darlin'," she said, gliding away, humming to herself. She went back to the counter, picked up a menu, and headed back in Sam's direction.

Dean chose that moment to enter on scene. His brilliant smile was bedazzling. He looked over at the owner, and she stood stock still with her mouth slightly open, her hand on her full bosom.

"Oh my," said Rosie. "And ain't you just the handsomest thing!" she blushed crimson.

Dean grinned suavely and gently retrieved the menu that she was clutching in her other hand.

"And I bet you make a mean burger," he almost cooed back at her.

She swallowed visibly, going an impossibly deeper shade of red.

"Well, yes, we do make some fine burgers here. Why don't you just sit yerself down right here… I mean here," she gestured lamely at an open table.

"Actually, I'll be sitting with my brother," Dean jerked his head in Sam's direction.

Roundish Rosie fled back to the kitchen and from the loud giggling Sam imagined that she was imparting every detail to the girls in the back. A tall brunette came out with a coke and two glasses of water and came up to the table as Dean settled himself.

"I'm Sally," she said, her blue eyes twinkling against a backdrop of thick lashes, heavily thickened with mascara. "Here's your coke," she said sliding it across to Sam. "And what are you having, hon?" she asked, whipping out a notepad from her apron, looking expectantly at Dean. She licked her lips, cocking her head coyly.

Dean perked up instantly, and Sam felt his face spread in incredulity. _You've got to be kidding_, he thought to himself. The girl certainly wasn't ugly, but she also wasn't the prettiest creature he'd ever seen. And it looked like it wasn't going to take two minutes before she would be scribbling her number down on a napkin and dropping it in Dean's lap. And it was kind of obvious that Dean wasn't exactly a monk. Sam felt slightly resentful watching as Dean continued to converse with the girl, flirting shamelessly. He hated being the audience for Dean's constant sexcapades. Shifting uncomfortably, he wished himself miles away. He mumbled his order when she turned to him abruptly and had no idea what he was going to be eating.

"I'll have that out to you in no time," Sally chirped, tucking the menus under her arm.

Dean was grinning from ear to ear.

"She gets off in about an hour," Dean said smugly.

"Excuse me?" Sam growled. "Dean, what? Come on!"

"Awwww, Sammy…" Dean looked exasperated.

Sam wasn't hungry anymore. He stood up abruptly and threw down a few bills to cover dinner and headed for the door. As he passed, he heard the old man mumble something to his wife that sounded vaguely like "wet dog". He shoved the door open and stomped out. He felt childish for doing it, but he wasn't in the mood to wait in the car while Dean had his fun in the motel. He'd go for a walk and cool down.

It wasn't a very big place and he ended up in the local bar, having a beer by himself. He ignored the longing looks that the pretty waitresses gave him, slanting eyes from under long lashes. So he was surprised as all hell when a girl slid in beside him and ordered two beers. He sighed inwardly and turned to go through yet another painful piece of awkwardness and then his mouth dropped open. Chocolate brown eyes laughed up at him.

"Hey Sammy," said Hannah. "What a pleasant surprise," she teased, leaning against the bar, shoving the second beer at him.

"What are you doing here?" he took the offered beer and grinned at her relieved that it wasn't another pouting waitress.

"Noticed something in town…," she said, the smile dropping from her eyes, but remaining around her lips. They quirked up at the corners. "So I'm doing a little re-con."

"In a bar?" Sam laughed. He stopped at the expression on her face. "You're serious."

"Amazing things happen in bars," she said, surreptitiously gesturing to a man in the corner, nursing what looked like a tumbler of Jack Daniels. "See, Mr. Steve Foggerty has been sitting at that very same bar stool, for the last three weeks. He shows up here about 8:30 and orders this same thing every time: whiskey and water," she said.

"So?" Sam pushing forward on his elbows and taking a moment to glance over, "Seems like just a regular to me…"

"Maybe, but he's usually on his third one when he starts blubbering like a damned idiot about his wife and kid and how he's never going to see them again. Most folks ignore him and go on with their own business, but he's not the first, and he's not going to be the last."

Hannah pulled something out of her leather jacket and handed it to him. He reluctantly scanned the pages.

"Huh," he said cocking his head thoughtfully.

"You see it, don't you?" Hannah asked, taking a delicate sip of her beer and making a face at the taste. She put her bottle down carefully and looked at him with her darkly intense eyes. Looking at her face, Sam felt suddenly tired.

"Are you even old enough to be in here?" Sam grumbled quietly at her, leaning forward so that she could hear him.

Hannah laughed delightedly.

"Ever heard of fake id?" she chuckled.

Sam grabbed her by the arm with a resigned look on his face and started towing her toward the exit.

"Hey!" she hissed at him. She dug in her heels as he pulled insistently on her arm.

"Is this guy givin' you trouble, Miss?" asked the bouncer, stepping in front of them as they neared the door.

Hannah turned her lips into a convincing pout even though her eyes spelt murder.

"Nah, my brother and I have some things to thrash out," she snorted and rolled her eyes. "Excuse us…" she chirped, smiling winningly and then stuck her tongue out at Sam.

The bouncer chuckled and let them pass.

"Kids," he muttered to himself, still chuckling, as they stepped out into the darkening night.

When they were far enough away, Hannah jerked her arm away from Sam, and turned to face him.

"You had no right!" she spat at him, all hell and fury. Her eyes flashed black with anger. "I'm not green; I know what I'm doing. I've been doing this with my mother since I was thirteen years old and I don't need someone getting in my way."

"You," he said, jabbing a finger in her direction, "barely look nineteen…"

"I'm twenty-three and I know how to handle myself!" she shot back. "And you know what I'm saying is true. In the last seven weeks, one man and three women have committed suicide in this town. They even had a 'crime of passion' last week and that hasn't happened since the whore house closed in the 1800's…Each and everyone one of these people were in the midst of a family breakup. The divorce stats have doubled and half the town is sleeping with someone other than their regular partners. Isn't that just a little weird to you?" Hannah asked.

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Sam mumbled, thinking about Dean. Multiple partner acrobatics were really just a regular occurrence…Dean was going to push the pleasure button one too many times and his tomb stone would say, 'Dean Winchester, beloved son and brother—fucked himself to death.'

Hannah threw up her hands and started walking away.

"So, what is it? Some kind of sex monkey?" Sam growled after her, just as impatient with her as she seemed to be with him.

She stopped in her tracks, turning her head slightly, seeming to consider something for a moment, and then she kept on walking. She disappeared around a corner and was gone.

Sam wanted to go after her, but his feet were rooted in the dirt he was standing on. He put his hands in his pockets and trudged back towards the motel.

***

By the time, Hannah had made it back towards the centre of town, her anger had cooled and she regretted leaving Sam standing by the side of the road, looking lonely. Hannah didn't know why he annoyed her so easily. _Why am I letting him under my skin?_ If he wanted to be moody and full of disdain, she didn't need to put up with it. So, instead she decided to head towards the motel. Maybe Dean was the brother to approach when it was about a hunt.

She walked slowly, noticing the Impala parked out front. Cocking her head to one the side, she moved in closer, trying to see through the window. With her nose almost against the glass, she peaked through the curtains and instantly catapulted backwards from the window, her hand covering her mouth to keep from screaming in shock. For a split-second she tried to digest what she had seen and despite herself started to giggle. She slowly backed away from the window, wrapping her arms around her middle, stifling the force of her own laughter.

Dean Winchester was _full frontal_ with some girl and all she had been able to see was his stark naked arse, the very thought of which was making her gasp with laughter. Hannah was definitely not impressed with the timing, but could not begrudge him the momentary indulgence. And from what she had seen, Dean was _definitely_ getting his indulgence.

Her reactions were so confusing tonight! She felt a fondness that surprised her and she frowned as she turned away from the high pitched squealing she could hear through the motel door and what sounded like low, mock growls. She closed her mind's eye against the image of Dean's naked white ass, smothering more laughter as she broke into a run. The absurdity was swallowing up her embarrassment. Giving up all semblance of cool, Hannah twirled around in the street, shaking her hair all around her, laughing under her breath. Her mother would probably have scolded her for exhibiting such behaviour, but she could not restrain herself and the fuel of her youth.

The ride home on the motorcycle was quick and comforting, and she'd almost put away her thoughts about the Winchester boys when she pulled up to the house. Unfortunately, her mother wasn't letting her forget about training because as soon as she was two steps into the great room, there was a _zing_. Without flinching, Hannah expertly jerked herself out of the way as a throwing knife thunked itself into the wood where her head had been seconds before. _Seriously, mum, not cool._ Hannah glared at the knife still shuddering in the wall.

"You know a hello would be nice sometimes," she said sardonically, her eyebrows arching at her mother as she reached to pull the knife out of the wood. She rubbed ruefully at the little half inch cut it had made in the timber and wondered how much it would have hurt trying to dig metal out of her forehead.

"Hannah, if you were any less my daughter, I'd have skinned you by now," her mother drawled, not looking up from the book she was obviously engrossed in. Other books were spread around the kitchen table, stacked on top of a buffalo hide worked smooth by many sets of hands. Her mother was holding an eagle talon up to her cheek and scratching the side of her face almost absently.

Hannah muttered something obscene, making her mother glare at her with narrowed eyes. Maggie shook her head and turned back to the book, caressing its leather pages reverently. Instead of words, bright coloured lines splashed across pages which folded out of the book much larger than the binding itself. Hannah swore that she'd once seen the pictographs of horses running across the page, but she'd never been quite sure. And her mother had not yet chosen to share the secrets of that particular book. It was part of their inheritance, along with many other things in the room. Hannah loved the warmth and comfort of the wood timber house that she'd known all her life.

Standing in front of the fire, Hannah shrugged out of her boots, jeans, and shirt in favour of a white buck skin dress. It was fringed and beaded, embroidered with a war bonnet on the front, with eagle feathers hanging from cunning little eyelets marking the circular pattern at equal intervals. She sat down on a fur rug with her knees pulled up and rested her chin on her arms, staring into the fireplace. Sensing her pensive mood, her mother settled in behind her, and leaned around to pluck a bone comb from a basket that sat neglected by a stool. Maggie drew the comb through the tangle of wavy hair, carefully working away at the knots. Hannah could feel that her mother was worried. She sighed and leaned into the comforting motion of the comb, pushing away a feeling of bitterness. Maggie braided her daughter's hair, weaving in a string of feathers and sat back looking at her handiwork. The silence grew long even though the crackling of the fire filled the void.

"You used to love this when you were small," Maggie said at last.

"Mmmm."

"What are you thinking of, Hanny?" Maggie asked, leaning her head against her daughter's.

Hannah fixed her eyes on her mother— knowing full well that Maggie already had a sense of what she was thinking and feeling. The look was arch, but short-lived and Hannah settled her chin back on her forearms.

"I was just thinking about Dad," answered Hannah soberly, ignoring her mother's swift intake of breath, "About how little time we got with him."

"Well, he was a huntin' man." Maggie said, after a pause. "A rambler. Never could stay in one place for long…and I wasn't what he was searchin' for…" Maggie sighed, careful to keep her tone neutral.

"But you loved him?" Hannah asked timidly.

"I did…for a long, long while," Maggie admitted, a smile briefly breaking over her features. "But it's hard when you have a daughter to raise and you're all alone. Your Gran, when she was alive, and your Grandfather were good enough to help out."

"Yeah."

Hannah smiled into her arms at the thought of her grandfather who'd passed away just last year. She'd loved him so much and now he was gone too. He had died in his sleep, a smile on his lips, whispering his wife's name. Hannah had been there sitting next to his bed. She'd felt him go, and Maggie had stood a corner of his room and seen the spirit of her mother, wreathed in light, take him by the hand. Keeping with tradition, Maggie had killed one of the young stallions they kept on the ranch. Setting its carcass ablaze, she had sped its spirit away to help carry her father's ghost on the journey home…but Hannah was talking again.

"I remember different things about Dad," said Hannah, her thoughts returning to her father. "It gets fuzzy sometimes and I can't see his face," she worriedly. "But some days, when I'm trying really hard, I see it all so clearly…Do you remember the time he came and brought me my first knife? It was soo tiny in his hands, but it fit mine so well, like it'd been made for me…"

Maggie stroked her hand along Hannah's cheek, plucking at a hair that had come loose from the braid.

"I miss him, you know?" Hannah said, full of wistfulness.

Maggie turned her daughter to face her, thinking how pretty she was growing up, and how sad. Things weren't the way she'd planned it to be, but that at least was a constant. Hannah was growing up fine despite the challenges that had always faced her, and Maggie was fiercely proud of her daughter. Something of this must have shown on her face because Hannah smiled at her, gripping her hand. Maggie smiled back.

Hannah leaned into her mother for a time, but soon rose and headed up to her room.

"Don't stay up too long, ok?" Hannah called after her.

Maggie watched her daughter climb to the top of the stairs onto the landing and watched her disappear around the corner. She felt more than heard the bedroom door shutting quietly. Turning back to the fire, Maggie didn't hesitate. She snatched a few jars off the lintel and crushed leaves in her hands. She went back to the kitchen table and carried the great book back to the fireplace. She threw the crushed leaves, sage and tobacco, on the flames letting the aromas rise up on the air: sage to ward against evil spirits, tobacco for to please the ones she needed.

Taking a breath to steady herself, she began the ritual. She stroked the pictures in the book, and almost as if pushed, the lines moved under her hand. She pushed the lines closer, forcing them together. Like magnets, they struggled against her will, fighting. She set the book down on the rug and sat down over it, taking slow deep breaths. When she could hold them in no longer, she let them loose. The lines scattered in all different directions across the skin pages and then they desperately tried to re-arrange themselves. Maggie watched the mesmerizing pattern form itself and let it suck her in. She mouthed her spirit guide's sacred name, calling for help on her journey.

Where Maggie was there was no sense of time and when she came back to herself and looked over at the clock she saw that it was late. She sighed. Reluctantly, she closed the book. She had performed the ritual correctly, but there had been no gift from the spirits tonight. She rose stiffly from the floor, but before she came fully erect, she felt a stabbing pain and realized she was still in the space between. She cried out in surprise as a torrent of images struck her like a hammer to the anvil. She couldn't see and she couldn't tell if she was falling. She couldn't breathe.

She put her hand out to catch herself, but couldn't differentiate between the images pouring through her being and the ones her eyes were supposed to be registering. The flashing barrage was going to split her head open and just as she thought she could take no more the world seemed to float up before her and she felt her flesh disintegrate and shear off her bones as she hurtled through what had been, what was, and what was still to be.

Maggie felt a certain amount of chagrin when realized that she was in her own skin, sprawled on the floor in her own home. Before she could gather herself, Hannah was already pulling her up and onto the couch. She made sure her mother was sitting and then swiftly moved to the liquor cabinet, pouring a scotch and held it out to her mother. Hannah's eyes with dark and unreadable, her hair disheveled from sleep. Maggie grimaced, her head pounding, and took the proffered drink. She threw it down in one swallow and held the tumbler out for another.

Hannah raised her eyebrows but took the glass and poured. Her mother only rarely wanted another scotch.

"It was a bad one, Hanny," Maggie groaned, putting her head back and rubbing her forehead with thumb and third finger. "And it appears that we and the Winchesters are in a crap load of trouble…"

Maggie's lips were thinned in annoyance.

Hannah looked startled.

"The Winchesters?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Black Hills, South Dakota_

Dean stared after Sammy as he stomped out of the diner and then shrugged it off. Sally didn't seem to mind and continued with her pleasantries and not so subtle hints about what she'd like to do to him in bed. Dean sucked it in, a smile plastered on his face. _Oh Yeah…_ he thought as he dug into his second piece of warm apple pie….

He was waiting for her when she got off, leaning against the Impala with casual grace.

Sally drank in the sight of him and tried to not to squeal with delight.

"So, uh, your place or mine…?" he grinned, throwing the line out, his voice teasing, rough.

Sally could feel the electricity rocket through her veins and straight to her toes. She let her lashes sweep down against her cheeks and looked up. She was almost stunning in that moment.

Dean didn't see the caked mascara, the cheap material of her shirt…he only saw her hips fit nice in her jeans, that her hair curled loosely around her shoulders now that it was out of the ponytail she'd worn earlier. She was pretty and willing and that was all he was asking for.

Her breath came in shallow as she watched him watching her. He made her feel absolutely beautiful. She could see the hungry look in his eyes and she slid towards him.

"Your place," she said in a husky whisper.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded and held the car door open for her.

***

Steve Foggerty was crying so hard that he could barely see. He sucked in big deep breaths, the sound coming out ragged and choked. He hated the sound coming out of his mouth but could not prevent the animalness of it. He crouched on the floor, looking at the blood everywhere. Wet. Slippery. Red.

How did he cut himself…?

A few feet away, Cora, his wife, was holding their daughter Sara against her, shielding her daughter's eyes from the thick blood oozing across the floor. They clung to each other, horrified, jammed up against the patio door in the kitchen.

Sara was sobbing and no matter what Cora did to try to hush her, Sara sobbed harder, burying herself into her mother's arms.

"Daddy's not going to hurt us, hon," Cora whispered, frantic to stop her daughter's crying. "Daddy's not going to hurt us."

Cora looked hollowly at the man she'd once known so well. Her eyes wet with tears unshed.

"I want you to come back now, Cora," her husband said in a voice she did not recognize. "I want it to be all over now. I want us to be the way we used to be….don't you remember? The way it used to be?" he pleaded with her, sounding confused, hopeless.

Cora's lips twisted in pain. She closed her eyes reliving the last six hours over again.

She had been living at Mark Stein's house for the last few weeks.

She'd called her mother from his house about two weeks ago and told her that she had moved the kids in with Mark. That she didn't love Steve anymore. That they had disagreed about things. That they fought all the time. And now that she had left him, he harassed her on the street, followed her everywhere when she was out of the house.

Cora couldn't sleep at night and she was frightened that Steve was going to take Sarah and their son Christian away from her.

It was unbearable…and it only made things worse that she couldn't stay away from Mark. She saw him every waking moment, wanting to be with him. She wanted to breathe his scent in when they fell into the bed together, trying to sate the ravening urge to become one tangle of limbs and lust.

She would wake up to get water or food, and he'd pull her back into the bed. They didn't eat. They didn't sleep. They hadn't been to work…They made love over and over and over again. He wanted her all the time and she couldn't get enough of him.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd made food for the kids and she'd started to ignore Sara's accusing stare whenever she and Mark came into the kitchen, half naked to grab food, sometimes forgetting that they were in the presence of the children and ending up making love on the kitchen table.

She barely noticed when the children stopped going to school…stopped coming home for days at a time. She'd get a call once in a while to say that Sara or Christian were all tucked in for their sleepover and they'd be fine… Cora would say something blasé, something formulaic and hang up.

Her mother had yelled at her over the phone that she was being irrational and if things weren't going well with Steve after a marriage of fourteen happy years, then she should bring the kids over while she and Steve sorted it out. What good would it possibly do them living in a stranger's house when they could be with their grandmother?

Cora had hung up on her mother who'd still be talking on the other end. It hadn't mattered what her mother said or thought. She could only think of Mark.

She didn't know what Steve did during those few weeks. She didn't hear from him; she only saw him when he showed up outside the grocery store, looking exhausted, unshaven, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing for three or four days. Or when the phone rang and rang and rang and she'd run to pick it up, only to hear him breathing on the other end in great sobs:

"Cora, come home! Please come home."

The phone would slip out of her fingers almost automatically. She hung up on him every time.

She didn't care when he stopped following her around and after a while she stopped leaving Mark's house. She didn't care when the phone calls stopped. The only thing she knew was Mark.

Mark Stein had known Cora and Steve Foggerty for years. They had all been friends in high school. In fact, both Mark and Steve had dated Cora, and when she chose Steve and they got married, Mark was best man at their wedding. Mark hadn't begrudged his friend at all. Cora had had eyes only for Steve and they were good together. Mark didn't give it another thought.

Mark had gone to college and had come back as a high school teacher. He had several serious relationships, but nothing that made him consider marriage. He looked to the type of relationship that Cora and Steve had and their marriage was what he considered the model on which he would base his own wedded bliss. And any way, he just wasn't ready to settle down.

So, he wasn't really thinking of Cora at all when he saw her and Steve standing in the store line up, one Tuesday, as they had done for the last ten years. He simply waved and they smiled and waved back – Cora chastising Christian for saying something smart-assy, and Steve proudly telling the cashier that Sara had won the school essay contest for her year.

Mark looked up and Cora caught his eye. She smiled. He smiled and something white-hot went through his heart. He caught himself staring and flushed a little, turning back to the cash desk, shoving the proffered bills into his wallet.

"She's a pretty lady, isn't she" asked the cashier.

"Yes, yes," Mark mumbled, distracted.

"I guess you've known each other a long time," she said.

"Well, that's not hard in this town. We all grew up together," Mark replied absently, watching Cora leave the line up and head out the door, a bag in hand, holding her son by the arm with an exasperated look on her face. She turned back looking at him. Mark stared after her.

"Hey Mister! Hurry up!" yelled a whiny, snivelling 10-year old, his hand sticky with the candy he was impatiently waiting to purchase.

"Oh, sorry…" he muttered, bagging his rutabaga and turning on heel.

But after that day in the store, the thought of Cora had consumed Mark. He would wake up in the night thinking about her. Trying to get himself back to sleep, he'd have a drink, leaning against the mantelpiece and staring into the darkness. It got to the point where he started to call in sick at work. He told the principal that he was seeing the doctor about some long-term illness. He would mumble his excuses and hang up on the principal even while she was in mid-sentence. Meanwhile, he'd be pacing up and down his living room, still in his dressing gown, having another drink, thinking about Cora.

It went on like this for about a week before he cleaned himself up and was on her doorstep the next day, shaven, wearing his best suit and tie. His hair neatly slicked back and cunningly hiding the little bald patch at the back. He had picked up flowers on his way to her house.

Cora wasn't in the least bit surprised to see him when she opened the door.

"Hi Cora," Mark said, holding the flowers out to her.

"It's nice to see you Mark." She had responded genially.

Mark couldn't remember what they'd said over the next twenty minutes—meaningless pleasantries, observations about the weather... He was getting flushed, hot. She looked distracted, always looking at the front door as if Steve were going to walk in at any moment. Of course, it was ten o'clock in the morning and Steve was at work. The idea that Steve would be barging in, the jealous and unreasonable husband, struck Mark as laughably really. Steve didn't have a jealous bone in his body and Mark had never given him a reason…until now.

Cora stood up to get a vase for the flowers, hesitating when she saw that they were standing up from their chairs at the same time. There was no awkwardness. They fell on each other immediately, the flowers falling limply from her hand. She realized as an afterthought that their cloying, crushed fragrance was mixing in with the scent of their wild and voracious sex.

Cora came back to the present, breathing heavily. She had come back to the house at around five-thirty on one of those rare trips to the store. Mark had begged her not to go as he lay in the bed with her, stroking her hair. She did not want to leave, but there had been no help for it. There was no food in the house. She had not seen the kids for at least three days and she needed a shower. She had no idea how they had managed to stay in the sticky dampness for so long. She didn't mind it, but she'd noticed that Mark's cheeks were getting a little bit hollow and she felt a little bit light-headed. Her will struggled against the wild obsession and strangely her common sense prevailed. Mark had kissed her good bye and then disappeared downstairs to give her some privacy.

Cora didn't see him when she left and it didn't disturb her when she came through his front door and the door was unlocked. She actually wasn't really thinking about it at all. Instead, she was consumed with the looks that the women had given her as she waited in the line-up at the store…the whispers. They were hurtful, but she tightened her lip and ignored them. The cashier had been so kind and sympathetic. He was so patient with her when she confessed that she'd left her credit cards at home, and that she only had half the cash on her. The cashier hadn't even blinked, but smiled and told her not to worry about it. He'd put the food in a bag and handed it to her, smiling the whole while. She had felt strangely comforted.

Distracted, she walked through the living room and felt her heart leap into her throat when she heard Sara scream. She rushed toward the sound, into the kitchen, and skidded on the wetness on the floor…only it wasn't water. Sara stood at the far end of the kitchen, having just come in through the patio door, and was shrieking at the top of her lungs—

her screams ripping out of her chest.

Cora thought she was going to faint because standing over Mark, covered in his friend's blood, was Steve holding a kitchen knife as if he'd never seen one in his life.

"You made me do it, Cora!" Steve shouted at her. "You made me!" he yelled, backing away from her. Sara's eyes opened wide when her father stabbed himself in the heart.

Cora opened her mouth to scream, not realizing that she had been screaming already.

***

Sam heard the 911 call as it came in over the radio. Someone had reported a murder-suicide and the dispatch was calling all available patrol cars in the vicinity to deal with this one incident. What a horror-fest…sounded like someone was having a Friday the 13th bonanza

He decided to check it out since Dean was still in bed with Sally, and it would give him a chance to check out Hannah's theory about some sort of sex demon. He revved up the engine, making Dean run to the window. He waved at his brother nonchalantly, thanking the god of motel designs that windows started waist high…Dean came out in his jeans two seconds later.

"What's up?" he asked, nodding at Sam and leaning his hands on the window frame of the Impala.

Sam could see Sally, or whatever her name was, peaking around the door of their room.

"911 call. Sounds like our kind of gig. I'm going to check it out. Want me to wait for you?"

"Nah," Dean pulled a face. "You can take care of this one for once."

"You taking a vacation?" Sam grunted, annoyed. He had been hoping that Dean would come.

"Yeah, actually I am" Dean said, cocking his head to one side. He backed away from the car, waving Sam on his way. "Take this one for the team."

Sam rolled his eyes watching his brother saunter back to the motel room for another round of shag-ri-la. Sally had the decency to wave and not look smug.

It was quite late already when Sam put the Impala into park opposite a huge, triple garage house. His face soured when he noticed a large blue Ford truck already parked at the other side of the road. _Great_. Hannah was already here somewhere.

Several ambulances were there along with two patrol cars, one unmarked. Sam noted that the paramedics were just closing the doors on what looked like a body. Another one was being removed from the house, the paramedics trying to hoist the gurney down over the front steps.

In the midst of the flashing lights, the watching neighbors, and the shouts of the cops, an investigator was taking a statement from a blond-haired woman in her forties. She looked disheveled and her eyes were red with crying, her clothing splattered with dark splotches. Sammy assumed that it was blood. He watched her for a while.

He noticed a young, blond-haired girl sitting by herself on the curb, wrapped in a blanket. He headed towards the girl. He did a cursory flash of a badge (he couldn't quite remember which one) at the on scene constable and then he sat down next to the girl and pulled a thermos out of his jacket. He had been meaning to have it himself, but the girl looked lost, forlorn. His lips tightened in sympathy, wondering how much death she had seen.

He had to put it into her hand before she would even look at him.

"I'm Sam," he said, gently. He let things sink in for a moment, not trying to push the girl.

"Hot chocolate?" she said, sniffing at the cup. She took a tentative sip and then a larger mouthful, letting it trickle down her throat. She made a grateful sound and had some more. Sam didn't say anything, knowing that she was in shock. The hot chocolate would get her blood sugar back to normal before she crashed.

"I'm Sara," she said, her lips making a small brief smile up at him.

"I'm from the county sheriff's office. I'm with their counseling unit," he said. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She looked away, her eyes full of tears.

"It's all my fault!" she whispered. "I could have stopped it! They were fighting so much lately…"

"No honey," said a sweet husky voice. "No, you couldn't have and it's not your fault."

Sam looked up into the deep chocolate brown eyes of Hannah White Bird. He tried not to smirk, but didn't quite make it. Her lips quirked up a little, seeing the humor of it all, but she didn't let that break her stride. She was dressed in a button down shirt and slacks, with a dark blazer. The tag on the lapel read 'Margaret Thatcher – Child Protective Services'. She was holding a packaged cookie and glaring daggers at him. Sam tried not to look smug, having beaten her to the chase.

"Margaret's right. It's not your fault, Sara… now it's ok to tell us what happened," Sam coaxed.

"Mom and Dad were fighting a lot lately. Then Mom moved into Uncle Mark's house. She said it was only temporary. Then she stopped cooking…and she stopped eating. They were always together and I felt so alone. Christian doesn't even know!" she said, breaking into sobs.

"When did that start, Sara? All the fighting, I mean?" asked Hannah.

"Not long, maybe a month ago…" Sara sniffed. "Mom moved in with Mark almost right after."

"What happened tonight?" Hannah asked.

"Daddy killed Uncle Mark. He said he just wanted us to come home…and Mom wouldn't, and he stabbed himself…" Sara said, her eyes glazing over.

"I want you to remember something: it's not your fault. Ok? Honey, you hang tight ok? I'm just going to talk to Mr. Abooboo here and then we'll get you and your mom together for the night, ok?" Hannah said, crouching down to stroke the girl's hair. Hannah stood up, pushing against Sam's huge frame, moving him away from the girl.

"I snagged this…" she said quietly, passing him a photograph labeled 'Vic #2'. Sam stared down at the face, his blood turning cold.

"Steve Foggerty…from the bar," he said.

"Yeah," said Hannah. "I think we're going to need some help…"

Sam nodded. He had no idea what was doing this. He had never quite seen this particular m.o. before.

Hannah's face was unreadable as she stared back at the little girl sitting on the curb. Her thoughts went to her own dead father.


	4. Chapter 4

_Bobby's Place, South Dakota_

The phone was ringing, but Dean wasn't answering and Bobby shook his head when he got the boy's voice mail. He slammed the phone back down into the receiver and folded his arms glaring at the mangled appliance. He relaxed a little remembering what his wife would have said – 'it's just a phone, hon. It's not going to bite you'. Chuckling, he went back and dialed Sam's number.

"Hello?" Sam answered on the other end.

"Where in three hells are you, boy? And where the hell is that idjit brother of yours??" Bobby barked into the phone, relief making his voice more gruff than he'd intended.

"Getting a private karaoke rendition of 'She Bangs'," Sam said, and Bobby could hear the Sam rolling his eyes through the phone and pulled the receiver away to look at it before putting it back to his ear.

"Well, get back on the road, and get yer assess up here—" Bobby ordered, muttering obscenities under his breath. _Damn that boy – going to fuck himself to death_.

Bobby sounded super unimpressed and Sam tried to keep from sighing.

"Well, whatever it is might have to wait. There's something we have to take care of first. Anyway, we're pretty close to where you are—what, no, just give me a sec, hey!—" Sam yelled. Bobby heard some scuffling on the other end, and then Sam said 'OW!'

"Who is this?" a low contralto, lilted into the phone.

Bobby groaned. He recognized the voice immediately. _Not now…_

"Jeebus, Hannah, this is not a good time for a social call…" Bobby stared up at the ceiling, hoping for help from on high, and then started pacing. He stopped to flip open an old vellum book sitting on his desk before taking another deep breath.

"Hi Bobby!" Hannah said wryly, leaving Sam open mouthed. "How's my favourite uncle?"

"I'm no more your uncle than a drowned rat, now put that boy back on the line!" Bobby thundered.

"Mmm, touchy…here's Sam," Hannah shrugged, grinning wickedly and handed the phone to Sam who was holding his middle and glaring.

"You _know_ her?" Sam accused. He was pacing back and forth in the middle of the street, trying to look calm. He watched the cops and turned away quickly when two of them looked at him, their heads close together, terse words going back and forth. They broke apart uneasily when they saw him watching. _Great_, he thought. _Got to get moving_. On the other end of the line, Bobby was still talking. Sam had to shake himself to bring him back to the conversation.

"_Know her_? 'Course I _know her_, dumb ass. Now where's your brother?"

Sam turned and glared at Hannah and then turned back to the flashing lights across the street. The two cops were gone. He hoped that they weren't trying to radio in for more information on the fugitive Winchesters…it was probably the last thing he needed right now.

"He's back at the motel. I'm heading there right now. Listen, we've got a bit of a problem…it's like 'Days of Our Lives' down here," Sam grimaced at his own choice of words, but he wasn't quite sure how to describe it to Bobby. Embarrassment colored his tone and just made him sound resentful. How do you describe sex, lies, and video-tape to the man who was almost like a father to you? He'd never quite been able to talk about this to his own father, much less Bobby. That stuff just didn't come up in conversation, and there wasn't exactly a good time in their line of work.

"Sorry? What's Dean got himself into?" Bobby asked impatiently, thinking that Sam was still harping on Dean's sex life. _That boy!_

But Bobby could hear Hannah in the background now, insisting Sam tell him about the obsessive, even murderous relationships, the suicides. The chaotic jumble of words triggered something in Bobby's brain and he went straight back to his desk. _Damn it, where is that book?_

"Did you say Dean is at a motel? With a girl?" asked Bobby, suddenly serious, his mind racing forward. A suddenly normal circumstance was beginning to sound increasingly _not_ normal.

Sam pulled the phone away from his head and everything snapped together. He followed Bobby's train of thought to its ultimate conclusion: _Dean, girl, obsession…Crap._

"Uh—Nothing, nothing, it's not important, Bobby. Look, I'll call you back when I get this figured out!" Sam said, shooting a look at the beautiful, raven haired girl who was scuffing her boot in the dirt, looking impatient. She smiled at him and for one moment he felt like he'd seen that smile before and his blood turned cold. He looked away, trying to hide the brief crack in his composure. _Where have I seen that smile before??_

But they had to get back to Dean.

"Wait! Sam, whatever you do, _stay away from Hannah! _Now—"

Bobby heard the click before the tone sounded. He slammed the receiver back into it's cradle as Sam had hung up on him mid-sentence. He stared at the mess of plastic and metal with his arms folded and then gave up. Grumbling under his breath, he went to the fridge to get a beer. He'd deal with those two later…but first he needed to make a phone call to one Maggie White Bird. _And find that damned book!_

****

Hannah looked up speculatively as Sam moved toward the Impala. He'd frozen just before he'd hung up with good old Bobby Singer and that was not a good sign. She'd caught his expression before it had locked and it made her apprehensive as all hell. She tucked her hair nervously behind one ear, looked quickly away and then back at Sam Winchester. Before he could take off on her, she was on his heels in the same breath and had swung the back passenger door open and slid into the back seat. He'd been scrolling through the numbers on his cell phone and grunted when he saw her— his eyebrows almost instantly residing in his hairline.

"Out," he said, the space between his eyebrows creasing together.

"Nope," she shook her head slowly, staring into the brown green eyes that stared back at her in the rear view. The chocolate brown eyes narrowed, challenging him to throw her out of the car. She refused to budge.

As if to echo her, the wind picked up suddenly and howled all around the Impala. The force of it caused the shrubs to flatten themselves against the fence. He looked around him and he couldn't pretend that a cold shiver had not crawled up his spine and locked fingers around his throat.

"You've got the Ford," he said with a frown.

"Maggie will pick it up," she said, tilting her chin upward, daring him to say something else to dissuade her.

Sam let the air in his lungs out through his nose and sat back. _Fine_, he thought, changing tact. He gunned the engine and pulled out of the spot, making a u-turn in front of the cops and heading back the way he had come. They drove in silence not bothering to make conversation. He had nothing he wanted to say to her and then he remembered the information that he wanted. Had John Winchester been looking for a resurrection spell? Could he, Sam, find one to save Dean from his deal? He'd have to come at her sideways. He figured that Hannah would jealously guard such dangerous and powerful spells if she knew about them.

"You said before that you'd been doing this since you were thirteen," he glanced casually into her eyes.

Hannah nodded to herself while staring out at the window. She watched the shadows dance and writhe as the Impala roared its way down the road. She wondered why Sam was bothering to speak to her. The distaste that had appeared on his face before was still galling to her.

"Why would Maggie have you do that so young? She couldn't have been a hunter all her life."

The look Sam gave her was pointed.

Hannah had winced at the word "hunter" and her face took on a stubborn look.

"Do you think hunters are the only ones who know how to deal with spirits and demons?" Hannah asked, her tone scoffing and challenging.

"Well, no," Sam admitted candidly, thinking of Missouri. "I don't think that at all."

He waited, watching her eyes.

"It's not something I want to talk about," she snapped. "Can you understand that? I didn't choose this life anymore than you did," she said, softening a little at the end. Her thoughts were far away, holding on to that elusive memory of a tall dark haired man with a laugh that came from deep in his belly. The memory was painful.

"Our viewpoint, my mother and I, is a lot different from almost all hunters. Spirits and ghosts are a natural part of our landscape in this world. Good and evil – they exist in equal measure here on Earth, which is simply the arena where all levels, forms of life, co-exist. Space, time, modes of being – it's all fluid Sam," Hannah told him.

"Yeah, but ghosts don't belong here. When we find a ghost it's because it's trapped here or some physical remnant of it remains in the places it's haunting," Sam responded matter-of-factly.

"That's true for a lot of ghosts and spirits, but occasionally the spirit of an ancestor may choose to stay and watch over us. We brush past them, through them, in our day-to-day lives, and they fill us with warmth and laughter…and they hear us when we think of them. It's not all bad. Have you ever felt like someone was watching over you? Maybe someone you loved stayed behind."

Hannah could see from Sam's eyes that he was remembering someone who had stayed behind to protect him.

The wind was howling angrily around them and yet Sam's words were an explosion in the quiet of the Impala's interior.

"My mother," Sam breathed. She was still in our old house in Lawrence."

"Yes," said Hannah, eagerly. "You saw her, didn't you?"

Her voice was a little sad. He could hear it, and for a moment, he let it fill him…the kindness of a stranger.

Sam nodded slowly responding to her sympathy. Pain flickered through him and threatened to crush his heart and for a while he did not speak, letting the sound of the water under the tires take over as the Impala skimmed smoothly across the road. He quashed the feelings of loss, burying them deep inside him. He could not lose Dean like he'd lost Mom or Jess or Dad. He would not let it happen if he could help it.

Hannah's words made sense to him and he was beginning to see what her life was like.

"Sounds like you were raised like me and Dean," Sam's spurt of laughter, colored by bitterness, was short and rough. "We're always running from one fight to the next."

Sam sounded worn down and Hannah felt that somewhere deep inside, she could like him a lot. _If he wasn't such a whining princess…_her mind whispered at her.

"Maggie tried sending me to private school to keep me away from it…but after the third time I ran away, she gave up and let me come with her on the road. I know it wasn't what she wanted for me, but it was my dad who made up my mind."

"A demon killed my mom; it's what took my dad into it. When he went missing, Dean came to get me from school. It seems like a long time now," Sam murmured wearily.

"I don't know what happened to my father," said Hannah. "He stopped coming 'round when I was six, but I loved him more than anything. He was a hunter, or so my mom says—probably why she doesn't trust you and Dean at all."

They were pulling into town now and Sam couldn't believe what he was seeing. The conversation came to an abrupt end because the town looked like a wreck…and they hadn't been gone long enough for the amount of damage they were seeing. He and Hannah watched people hooting at each other, bottles littering the road... It actually looked like the diner might be on fire and Sam could hear gunshots spitting in the dirt not so far away. His hands tightened of the wheel of the Impala as he surveyed the carnage.

"What the hell's going on here?" Sam was completely baffled.

Hannah's look was grim.

"I think we need to do some research. I've got some clues, but we need to put it together," Hannah muttered. "At least we don't got fire raining down on the motel yet…"

Sam pulled the Impala into a spot right in front of the motel room he was sharing with Dean and got out. He noticed that the lights were still out and the little "do not disturb" sign was still on the door. _Seriously_, thought Sam. _You've got to be kidding—he can't still be at it_.

Taking a deep breath and trying not to look worried, he headed towards the door.

"Wow, you look grumpy…" said Hannah, thrusting her hands into her pockets, gauging the look on Sam's face.

And that's when they ran into Bobby.

They saw him pull up in his car, and next to him sat a very unimpressed looking Maggie.

"Crap," Hannah mouthed at Sam. Sam ducked his head to the side, his eyebrows lifting, trying not to smile. Getting Hannah in do-do gave him more pleasure than he thought it would, but he'd had enough with the interfering brat for one day. _Let someone else baby-sit for a change_, he thought to himself. A resurrection spell would have to wait.

Hannah came out with guns blazing.

"So instead of shootin' the wind, we've found out a couple more things…"

Maggie interrupted her by pulling her forward by the arm.

"Just cut the crap, Hannah," Bobby whispered as he passed her, heading for the motel room, which was currently being occupied by a very naughty Dean.

Sam tried not to smirk, but didn't manage to hide the look on his face. Hannah glared and decided that shooting Sam was probably going to make her to-do list before the end of the week. He looked as satisfied as a pig in shit. She felt a little hurt considering that she'd tried to do the heart-to-heart thing…give a little. Apparently, reciprocation was not exactly in Sam's make-up. _Selfish boob_, she thought peevishly.

"Don't even start," Maggie barked at her.

Hannah was getting really tired of being treated like a child and in front of Sam. She shrugged her mother off, and planted her feet. Recognizing the look, Maggie sighed and turned her attention to more important things.

"First we better get to that boy…there may not be much left of him," Maggie turned to Bobby, waiting for him to lead the way. She sighed and folded her arms.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Bobby asked, a little petulantly.

Sam tried to hide his amazement. Bobby Singer had seen all kinds of things in his life, fought every kind of demon…and Sam promptly stifled what he was going to say when they flung the motel door open and he saw Dean's naked white arse—

"Whoa—" Sam said putting his arms up, turning his face away and backing right up. "Uhm, I'm going to stay out here…" He turned a circle, scratching at the back of his head, trying to look nonchalant.

Hannah stuffed a fist in her mouth to keep from giggling. _There goes the great Sam Winchester_.

"Wussy," Bobby complained, shaking his head. Taking a deep breath, he strode forward and yanked Dean up by the ear. Sally screamed her head off until Maggie knocked her unconscious with perhaps more force than was necessary. Hannah rolled her eyes at her mother's grim and straight-lined smile.

"OW—Hey!" Dean yelled, his voice a little high with surprise. Bobby dragged him outside and then headed back into the motel room to retrieve some clothing. Two seconds later, Bobby came back out and threw a pair of pants at Dean, and then had to grab him again when he started heading back into the room, still stark naked. "Dudes! You hit Sally?? For Christ-sake…You actually _hit_ Sally??" Dean's tone was incredulous.

"Didn't mean to," Maggie said, looking completely unrepentant.

"Dean, she'll be okay," Sam said, grabbing his brother's arm. "Come on. We've got some work to do…"

"You can take care of that," said Dean, "I'm not leaving Sally." The stubborn cast to Dean's features would have been hilarious any other time but now.

"Dean. Let's go!" Sam said impatiently.

"Dammit Sammy!" Dean pointed back at the motel door, which was still hanging ajar. There was a determined look on his face.

"I've never been more sure of this in my life! That girl in there? I'm going to marry that girl and before you know it there are going to be little Dean Winchesters running around, ok?"

Sam looked at Dean with his mouth slightly open, gaping. Hannah looked queasy and pretended to vomit, earning her a dirty look from her mother.

Bobby rolled his eyes and went back to the truck. He came back with a bucket.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. Is Dean possessed?" Sam asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Nope," grunted Bobby as he dumped the contents of the bucket over Dean's head.

"Weeeaaaaaaaaaaaah! Tha's cc-coud" Dean stuttered out, spitting water out of his mouth.

"So that's not holy water?" Sam was still baffled.

"No shit Sherlock— Just the regular kind. A cold shower ought to help out too."

The look on Sam's face was dubious.

"Come on. Let's go, lover boy," Bobby grabbed one arm and Maggie the other, as Dean stood shivering in the night. He barely even struggled. Bobby's long-suffering sigh would have been priceless at any other time, but now.

"Is someone going to explain anything??" Hannah asked timidly.

"Nope," said Maggie and Bobby simultaneously.

"For God sake, Dean, put the pants on." Bobby pleaded.

"Where you takin' me?" Dean asked. "And w-w-what about Sally?"

"Detox," said Bobby, patting his arm gently, as he pushed him into the back seat. Dean was holding the pants as if he didn't know what to do with them. Bobby finally threw him a blanket and got into the front, shaking his head and muttering. Maggie slid in behind and started tying Dean's hands together.

"Uhmmmm, Bobby?" asked Dean.

"Uh huh?"

"You staging some sort of love connection intervention on my ass?" Dean asked.

"Yup," grunted Bobby. "And it's going to be a long night. So strap in for the ride, Dean, 'cause you ain't goin' to like it."

Hannah tried not to laugh as she watched Dean twist around and press his face against the back window of the car as Bobby pulled away. Though neither of them could hear him, both Sam and Hannah could see him yelling for help.

"Uh, so what do we do now?" asked Hannah.

"Well, we'd better follow them and see what happens…I'm kind of in the dark at this point" said Sam, shrugging.

"Yup. And I've got nothing. So shall we?"

Sam figured that life couldn't get any more bizarre, but of course, he was wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

_Bobby's House, South Dakota_

Dean gasped when the third bucket of ice cold water hit him. He blinked furiously to clear his eyes, and shook his head to get the last droplets out of his long lashes. He didn't look up, but instead let his chin rest on his naked chest. His teeth were chattering from the cold, but he wasn't even a little bit defeated by this. And they'd only been at it for about forty minutes anyway. He'd get back to Sally. It was going to take some time. He just wasn't sure which of the four other people in the house he was going to kill first. Probably Bobby—then he'd take out the others and happily drive back the way they'd come. He wondered how Sally was doing and whether or not she was going nuts looking for him. He was a little worried that she wouldn't be waiting for him when he got back to town. But for now that was in the back of his head. Cutting himself loose was going to be the first thing and if they thought they could keep him here, well, they had another think coming.

Slowly, Dean checked himself over: nose clear, eyes clear, mouth clear, ok. He wiggled his fingers and his toes, ensuring that he still had feeling in the extremities. That was important. If he lost feeling it'd be an uphill battle trying to get out. _Concentrate_, he told himself. It was impossible to keep warm, so instead he flexed, working his muscles with determination. He took a deep, slow breath and lifted his head. His eyes watched constantly. He wanted to know where each and everyone of them was in the house…and lucky for him they were all on the first floor researching.

Dean opened his mouth to talk and then shut it again abruptly when he caught the look on Bobby's face. The old guy was leaning against the kitchen counter opposite him with a dour look on his face. He shut the book he was scanning and looked up. Dean could see that Bobby looked suspicious and very irritated.

Dean chuckled softly, lightly, biding his time. He smiled and pretended to yawn.

"So, uh, are we done here, Bobby? 'Cause this is gettin' a little old," Dean drawled, rolling his shoulders back and around like a snake coiling, ready to strike. The muscles of his body rippled and he felt a strange animal satisfaction in it.

Bobby's eyes hardened as they took Dean in. He bit his lip and looked away.

"Are you sure this is the best way to do this?" Sam asked in frustration. He shook his head and let the air huff through his nose and mouth, giving vent to the feelings he was holding inside. Hannah put out a hand to touch his shoulder and he jerked away. She shrugged and brushed her hair out of her face. She shut the book that she was reading and strolled over to Dean to sponge him off a bit. He was sitting naked but for a pair of very wet board shorts. The water made his skin shiny and slick and she couldn't help but notice how good looking he was. His eyes were a smoldering green, the lashes wet with water. In spite of the fact that he was nearly naked, she felt no embarrassed warmth stealing over her as she peaked at him from under her lashes. In fact, there was nothing attracting her…not the same way as before. She wondered at herself and what the change meant. Her caught her arrested look and grinned to himself. She gave him a friendly pat on his shoulder and draped a towel over him. It was small comfort, but Dean appreciated the sympathy. He'd kill her quick and gentle.

Maggie's eyes were black and emotionless pits—hawk-like, they didn't move an inch from the eldest Winchester. She pulled her head back slightly, speculatively, and her gaze flickered to Bobby. Then her eyes went back to the empty bucket on the floor.

"Cold water never hurt anyone," Bobby retorted, after a pause.

"Yes, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything in particular except maybe get him all ready for a case of pneumonia," Sam muttered, pacing back and forth in the small kitchen. He looked enormous, filling the space with his long legs and arms and it took him very little time to cross back and forth in the small space. He was giving Hannah a headache and wearing a hole in the floorboards. Why they were doing this in the house at all was a little ridiculous, but Bobby didn't feel that it was a good option to be out in the open.

"Sam. Outside," said Bobby, motioning at Maggie and Hannah to stay. Hannah slid her knife out of her boot and started to pick her nails with it. Her eyes flickering from Bobby's retreating back to Sam's scrunched up face. The screen door banged as they exited the front of the house. Hannah's eyes narrowed as she went back over the initial events upon their arrival at Bobby's place.

They had immediately eliminated possession, even though Sam had insisted that they throw holy water at Dean first. That was before they tried getting Dean out of the car—when they actually did, he went ballistic. Being Dean, he'd managed to wriggle out of the very excellent and tight ropes that Maggie had used to bind his hands some time during the thirty minute drive back to Bobby's house and unbeknownst to Maggie. When they tried to lead him out, he'd kicked Maggie out of the way and made a break for it. He ran right into Sam, whom he promptly slugged twice, and it was only because Hannah threw a _bolas_, entangling Dean's legs as he ran, that they were able to stop him from getting to the Impala. Sam had to admit that he was impressed. He'd only ever seen a _bolas_ used on cattle…Dean had been less impressed and the variety and fulsomeness of his cursing had actually made Maggie tape his mouth shut.

Reflectively, Hannah turned back to the task at hand wishing the tape still in place, as Dean had now resorted to childish taunting.

"You think you're going to get me with that little pig-sticker?" he sneered at her.

Hannah raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side.

"When did you get so mean? I liked you better when your mouth was taped upside your head," she said, hamming up her smile for him. She settled patiently back against the counter.

"Laugh it up, Sugar, because I'll be out of here. Soon."

"Yup," sighed Hannah, "Anytime now, Dean. Feel free," she gestured toward the door with her buck knife and started flipped the knife lazily, still watching him.

"Hnnnh," he said, making a face at her. "That's nice. That's _real_ nice."

Out on the front porch, Bobby was trying to keep his voice down.

"Look, the longer we hold him the better. The more time he has away, the more likely he's going to be able to break that girl's hold on him. You just have to be patient, boy," Bobby insisted, his voice strained. "We know Dean can fight this."

"We don't even know what he's got, Bobby! That's what I'm worried about."

"I've got the books all laid out. So, go and read 'em and we'll fix this a lot faster," Bobby huffed, annoyed. He adjusted his hat, wiping the moisture away from his forehead. "It ain't goin' to get easier, Sam. The worst hasn't even started. Can you handle this?"

Sam looked away. Bobby grabbed his arm, shaking him.

"Sam?! Did you hear me?"

"Yes, Bobby. I heard you," Sam looked at the older man, a little amazed at how serious Bobby seemed. "Yeah, ok. I'll go back through again."

As they came into the house, they heard another sloshing whoosh, a short grunt, and splashing. Then there was a sharp screech.

"Let me go! Dean! This is so not funny!" Hannah gritted, trying to extract herself from Dean's grip. He'd managed to get at least half the bucket of water on her. She stomped off into the other room, dripping water as she went. Maggie didn't even blink when the torrent of creative swear words resounded from the hallway and up the stairs.

"Come on, guys. I just want to see Sally. And I really don't know what's wrong with that," Dean cajoled, sighing impatiently.

"You're obsessed with her," Sam explained. "Not your usual love 'em and leave 'em style."

"So?"

"Uh Dean…she's not even, well, uh…" Sam looked afraid.

Dean glared at him.

"Just spit it out Sam," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes.

"She's not that…uhm"

"She's an ugly, skanky, sleaze tart!" Hannah's voice echoed from the hallway.

Maggie's lips pursed together.

"Stop dis-ing my Sally! Jeez, everyone's soo critical. I don't know what you're all talkin' about. She's perfect and you'd better be nice to her when she becomes part of the family," Dean said, quite sternly. "Especially you Sam!"

"See, that is crazy talk, Dean, and nothing like you," said Sam, shaking his head and gesticulating with his hands, trying to get through to his brother…who started to sing. Sam clapped his hands over his ears and went back to the desk in the living room, doggedly pulling open another book.

Hannah walked in, dressed in a t-shirt and torn jeans, her hair up in a pony tail, looking a little miffed. Dean was still singing at the top of his lungs. Maggie didn't blink, but rummaged about in her bag and then promptly stuffed a large rolled sock in Dean's mouth.

"Fmmm-mm, mm-mmm-mm-mm!" Dean's word's were muffled, but there was no mistaking the tone or the meaning.

"Listen, I think I've got something here," said Sam.

The others crowded around him.

"The cult of Eros?" asked Hannah with doubt tingeing her voice. Dean, still tied to the chair in the kitchen, cocked his head to listen.

Sam eyed her and then read aloud from the text in front of him: "Known as the son of Nyx or night and Erebus (hell), Eros is a bringer of chaos to both men and gods. Ancient cults dating back to the Greeks, worshipped him as a god of love, lust and perversion…he is also known as the demon, Amantes."

"Cupid!? Are you kidding me? You think I've been shot by fucking Cupid?" Dean yelled from the kitchen, furious. The sock was lying on the floor.

And the silence was uncomfortable.

Hannah couldn't help herself and a gasping giggle escaped her lips. Bobby followed suit and let out a guffaw. Sam cracked a brief smile. Then they all laughed heartily. Hannah giggled until she couldn't breathe, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. Even Maggie managed to let out a grunt that sounded like it might be humor.

"What's so funny!" Dean yelled over the uproarious laughter. While they were all distracted, he'd managed to get one hand wriggled out. His wrist was wet with blood and sweat, but he'd been working fiercely at it ever since everyone had moved away from the kitchen. No one was watching.

Sam felt drained after such a release of tension and sat back on the sofa, scratching his head.

"You've got to admit," he said, "It's kind of poetic for Dean."

Bobby rolled his eyes. _I swear that sex will be the death of that boy_…

"So what about Dean?" asked Maggie. "What do with do with him?"

"Hmm, signs of infection by said malady: secretiveness, irritability, obsession, violence, lustfulness…to quote Deacon Peter Sauder: the intoxication of the chaos demon can only be cleansed through a ritual purification of the soul similar to exorcism. Some extant texts suggest killing the source of the infection. However, as such treatments are antithetical to modern science, shock treatment is an acceptable substitute…" Bobby read out. "If such therapy is unsuccessful, psychosis is permanent, leading to decreased quality of life and eventually…death."

Sam cringed. Hannah looked stricken.

"That thing reads like a doctor's manual…" Hannah muttered, trying to lighten the atmosphere and failing miserably.

Sam held up the book, cover facing outward. Hannah's lips pursed, forming an 'O'.

"The Psychosis of Demonic Possession and Medical Maladies of the 1800's? Where did you even find this, Bobby?" Hannah asked.

"Better if you don't know," Bobby chuckled. "Now let's not waste anymore time gawking."

"Agreed," said Maggie.

"So how do we kill this thing?" Dean yelled from the kitchen, still working away at the knots. He was still thinking about Sally, but her face was getting blurrier and he had to get back to her. Also, a more alarming sensation was settling in. He was beginning to realize that this whole business might be a fantasy…the doubt was cutting a wide swath through his more romantic notions…what if they were right? What if he was infected with some sort of evil mojo sex disease. The thought twisted his guts and that's when he realized he was sweating. _Bad. Very bad_, he noted to himself. Meanwhile the others were still talking about the demon. He jerked his attention back to the conversation, trying to follow, and tried to ignore the burning feeling that was beginning to creep over his body. What had been a wriggling bid for freedom became writhing pain. Dean seriously felt like he wanted to throw up. Panting, he deliberately made himself concentrate on the voices in the adjacent room.

"Well, it's a demon. So, I would say exorcism," said Sam.

"Works for me," Hannah smiled, feeling the anticipation of a hunt sneaking through her blood.

"That still don't answer the question: What do we do with Dean?" Maggie pointed out.

Everyone turned to look at Dean, who was looking very pale and sweaty. He looked back at them, one to the other, eyes unnaturally bright. Hannah looked shocked and Bobby and Sam started towards him.

"Oh shit," Dean breathed and vomited on the floor.

****

Detox had taken hours. They'd had to tie Dean to a bed upstairs with a pail next to it. As much as possible they gave him pain meds to help but the shouting broke their hearts. Bobby had made Sam leave when Dean had started to scream.

Hannah had done everything to keep him comfortable, and her heart broke for him, watching him writhe. She'd covered him with a blanket when he'd shivered with cold, and washed his forehead with a cold damp cloth when he had muttered and shouted through fever. It was awful. Incredibly, he had forced himself to be coherent most of the time, which just made the screaming worse.

Sammy and Bobby and taken turns relieving her and Maggie had made up a herbal tea to try to combat some of the more hysterical delusions that had taken hold. It was early the next day before Dean settled weakly into an exhausted sleep. The worst was over. When he woke, they cleaned him up and moved him into the living room, propping him up on one of the couches.

Some time later that morning, Hannah got showered and tried to nap on the floor. Sam went out to check on supplies and then got on the net and Bobby and Maggie sat down to toss back a whiskey.

Maggie was staring into space without blinking. It made her look owlish.

Bobby who was sitting across from her mulled over what she'd told him of her vision and he looked somewhat thoughtful.

"Well if that's the case, then we might just have to get them all in one building. There's no use trying to get them one at a time, they'll see us coming," Bobby grunted.

"That really sucks," said Hannah, who'd hadn't been able to nap.

"Yeah, I didn't figure that we'd have to take out an entourage too," said Sam, sitting back. He'd stopped surfing the net as soon as Maggie had mentioned Lilith.

"I was hoping not, but so far, everything is running true to the vision," Maggie folded her arms and leaned back.

Hannah knew that the next few decisions were going to be crucial. The reality of Maggie's visions were almost impossible to deviate from after the initial trigger event – that being Dean's first attempt at escape. The second attempt had been cut short by Dean's exhausting illness. He was sitting up now and was looking a lot better than he had earlier. He was also eating… He had accepted Maggie's abilities with his usual distrust, but looked on at the proceedings with interest.

Sam was still a little stunned and plenty disgruntled. Maggie had explained that a certain combination of factors had to come together to lead to the trigger event. These factors could be anything, but once the trigger event happened, every event subsequent to that moment in time would follow the track that Maggie's vision had run. Of course, Sam had been in a rage as Maggie had not bothered to disclose any of this to him or to Dean and he understood from Hannah that Maggie had had the vision very shortly after meeting them on the wendigo hunt. Maggie's reasons for non-disclosure had been a very hard pill to swallow. She simply explained that it would have made things worse if they had tried to avoid the trigger event. Anything that she could have done to prevent Dean's attempt would have actually pushed the timeline in her vision further and inexorably ahead. And she knew from past experience that there was no point meddling; however, now that the trigger event had come and gone, it was time for action.

Dean of course disagreed vehemently with Maggie's approach. He was angry as hell that she'd not bothered to inform him or Sam. Bobby wasn't looking too happy either, but then he was more used to Maggie's version of 'need to know' than the boys were.

Dean was not a man used to being bound by fate (the hell deal aside) and would do anything and everything in his power to circumvent the inevitable (according to Maggie) conclusion of the next day or so.

Hannah was completely depressed. Maggie's vision had entailed a posse of demons, including Amantes, surrounding them in the town grocery store and handing Dean over to Lilith with a bow on top…a perfect valentine gift with all the bells and whistles. It was not at all an encouraging thought. Even less pleasing was the idea that Dean had sold his soul to a demon for his brother. Hannah was not impressed. In fact, she was distraught. What she had not told Sam was that her father had sold his soul to a demon for someone and it was this that had made her commit wholly and completely to tracking the down the dirty sons of bitches every single time she went out on a hunt.

After another heated discussion over tactics, they dispersed to do their various parts in trying to bring about a break in the timeline of Maggie's vision. Dean, who was becoming less of a danger to himself and to the others by the minute decided he needed to have another shower Sam looked unconvinced that his brother would behave himself and stick to the plan, but Dean hadn't mentioned Sally for a half day. Surely, surely, _that_ crisis had passed and ganking demon ass was the more immediate concern for everyone.

Liberated and almost restored to his former self, Dean rubbed his raw wrists, stood up, and went to get into the shower. He tugged the blanket closer about his shoulder and headed upstairs. Hannah was waiting for him when he came down, smelling of soap and clean clothes. Her jaw was set and her eyes moist.

"I need to talk to you," she said, jerking her chin at the door.

He shrugged expressively, letting his full lower lip come out, his eyebrows arching upward. He followed her out the door and into the cool night. She rounded on him almost immediately.

"What did you think you were doing?? Selling your soul?" Hannah accused, her voice breaking with emotion.

"Whoa! There's no need to get dramatic over this; it's not your deal. It's mine, and I'll damn well do what I want when I need to. Sammy's ass was on the line and I don't need to justify myself to you of all people," Dean jerked back, surprise racing across his face. His mouth hardened at the corners. "It's none of your damn business!" he growled at her.

"Do you have any idea what this is doing to Sam?" she asked in a husky whisper, her heart finally filling with some sympathy for the younger brother. "That you whored yourself to a demon for his life?"

"I KNOW how it feels. Damn you!" Dean shouted at her, his eyes moistening, as he remembered the terrible moment in the hospital when his father had leaned over and started to whisper in his ear. "I _know_…"

"Do you?" Hannah hissed, furiously. Her heart was tearing itself apart and she realized now how much she had grown to like and care for Dean—how much she admired him as he had fought his way through the worst of the sickness. The realization made the tears flow fast and furious over her chin and she turned away to hide them. How much of a weakness he'd become for her – how had this happened? There was nothing sexual about the respect that she felt, this genuine affection, but the strength of it surprised her. She couldn't help the tears and the sense of weakness made her angry. She brushed at her face with rough hands, making her eyes blur.

He softened, realizing from the hunch of her shoulders that she was crying.

"Why does it matter to you?" Dean asked gently, coming around so that he could hug her. She snuggled into him with a sigh.

"My father sold his soul to a demon. I hadn't seen him for years, hadn't heard from him, and then Bobby tells us he's dead. Do you know what that did to me?" she choked out.

Dean stiffened. He didn't know very many hunters who'd sold their souls to demons that Bobby also knew. He pushed away slowly, and then more firmly, holding Hannah at arm's length and staring at her face intently, searching.

"Why does it matter?" he asked again, more urgently this time, his brow creased as he bent looked at her.

She stared up at him, mute, frozen, color creeping over her beautiful high cheekbones.

"It matters because she's _our sister_," sighed Sam from behind them.

"WHAT?!" Dean roared.

At the same moment, he and Hannah broke apart like they'd both been struck by lightning. Hannah's eyes were wide and confused.

"Sam, what are you talking about?" she asked.

"Do you remember that day in the Impala? When I was reading through Dad's journal? There were pages missing from 1985. Hannah is exactly three years younger than me. Have you looked at her, Dean? When she smiles? Do you know who she looks like?" Sam said roughly, as he strode forward. His words whipped at them.

"No, no, no," Hannah whispered backing away.

'I looked it up on the net. Hannah's birth records. Maggie wrote the father in as J. Winchester, Dean. Our Dad, John Winchester."

The look on Dean's face was horrified. Hannah was equally appalled by the revelation.

"I knew I was right when she said that her father had sold his soul for someone. For you Dean. Do you know how few hunters have made deals? Just one. And his eyes are staring out of her face right at you," Sam said, with a little disgust and betrayal written on his face.

For a moment there was only the sound of ragged breathing. Each of them lost in their own thoughts, staring at their siblings across the divide of the verandah. It was almost too much to bear. The world could have been exploding around them, but it wouldn't have mattered at all.

Bobby came out and Maggie behind him.

"It's true?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side.

The look on Bobby's face was enough to convince both Sam and Dean that Bobby had known all along.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sam asked.

"It weren't mine to tell, boys, Hannah," Bobby said, holding his hands up to stave off the retorts forming on their lips. "Was your Dad's job and he didn't. So I was hoping that we'd get the demon stuff sorted out first…wasn't that important…"

Maggie glared at him, but said nothing. Bobby shrugged.

The boys stared at her, looking at this other woman, not their mother, and the girl who was their sister.

Hannah looked guilty, realizing from all along that her mother had wanted to protect her from this…that her father had had another family all along. She felt the air being crushed slowly from her windpipe. She looked at both boys with despair. Would they hate her?

Hannah wasn't sure when she started breathing again, but she definitely wasn't when Dean crossed the small stretch of space between them and crushed her in a bear hug. He held her as if his life depended on it. _A sister!_ he thought, his heart pounding in his chest with all the fierce protectiveness that he had always shown Sam. _I have a sister!_ And one that he didn't need to take care of, who could fight on her own, who had a mother.

Dean's whole world turned upside down in that moment, and he broke through the final strings of the compulsion which had been put on him and he was free of the demonic infection that had been crushing him for the last two days. He accepted her resolutely and Hannah could see that the dam had broken for Dean. She felt insanely relieved.

Maggie was standing to the side of them, her heart full, her fist in her mouth to keep from sobbing aloud. All these years she had hated John for this, but she let it go watching her daughter and her brothers together.

Bobby folded his arms in satisfaction. He was not unaffected by the scene before him.

"Can't breathe!" Hannah squeaked from somewhere around Dean's chest. Grinning, he released her.

Sam was more reserved and stretched out a hand to her. She reciprocated and then punched him lightly in the gut, eliciting an 'oof' sound. She grinned up at him and he gave in to it and sheepishly grinned back at her. Looked like he would be doing much more baby-sitting…

"So are we going to gank this demon?" asked Dean.

"Yup," Sam nodded. "Time to do what Winchesters do best. Coming, sis?"

Hannah grinned.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said softly, looking up at her two brothers with the same fierceness that she saw in reflected in their eyes.


End file.
